The
yellow birds sings in their tree and makes my heart dance with gladness.
We
both live in the same village, and that is our one piece of joy.
Her
pair of pet lambs come to graze in the shade of our garden trees.
If
they stray into my barley field, I take them up in my arms.
The
name of our village is Khanjana,
and Anjana
they call our river.
My
name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjana.
Only
one field lies between us.
Bees
that have hived in our grove go to seek honey in theirs.
Flowers
launched from their landing-stairs come floating by the stream where we
bathe.
Baskets
of dried kusm flowers come from their fields to our market.
The
name of our village is Khanjana,
and Anjana
they call our river.
My
name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjana.
The
lane that winds to their house is fragrant in the spring with mango
flowers.
When
their linseed is ripe for harvest the hemp is in bloom in our field.
The
stars that smile on their cottage send us the same twinkling look.
The
rain that floods their tank makes glad our kadam forest.
The
name of our village is Khanjana,
and Anjana
they call our river.
My
name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjana.